


His Fist On My Face (and I'll never look away)

by theinvisibledude



Category: The Picture of Dorian Gray - Oscar Wilde
Genre: Gen, This is a dumb AU, i didn't come up with the title or the alt title, ily boff and hoe, people in the discord did, the alt title is Dorian: dumb bitch extraordinarie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-03
Updated: 2019-09-03
Packaged: 2020-10-06 05:14:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20501474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theinvisibledude/pseuds/theinvisibledude
Summary: au where the knife isn't in the attic so instead dorian punches basil and then cries





	His Fist On My Face (and I'll never look away)

They were in the attic. Dorian can’t even remember how they got there. Something about how Basil confronting Dorian about all this bad gossip about him? Was that it? God, it was all a blur. Basil had mentioned something about having a soul, didn’t he? That was the reason that Dorian brought him up to the attic in the first place. To show him his soul.

Was it really Dorian’s fault that Basil is so weak minded that seeing the painting freaked him out? Dorian  _ told _ him that he was showing him his soul. He  _ told  _ him that all the gossip wasn’t true and he didn’t even care about the people who said it. That should have been a sign. Basil should have expected to see something grotesque. 

“Dorian what  _ is _ this?” Basil asked, not tearing his eyes away from the painting.

“It is my soul,” the blonde replied, sounding calmer than the other man. He was calmer, actually. Even if he hadn’t seen the painting in years, he expected it to be bad. Maybe not was horrible as it truly was, but he knew it wouldn’t be the same as when he last saw it.

“No,” Basil shook his head, backing away from the painting, “no, this isn’t your soul. This is a  _ mistake _ ! This isn’t real!”

Dorian’s blue eyes grew cold as he stared at the painter. “This is real. This,” he gestured to the painting, “is my soul.” He glanced at the painting, shuddering as icy blue eyes bore into his skull. 

“Then we must do something about it,” Basil murmured. “Let me help you, Dorian.” 

The sinister grin in the painting seemed to be whispering in Dorian’s ear. ‘ _ Kill him _ ’ they whispered. 

“Let us pray. Pray to god,” the painter continued, turning to face Dorian. 

_ ‘Kill him’  _ the painting whispered again. 

Could cursed paintings really talk? Or was it all just Dorian’s imagination. He looked around wildly, trying to find something,  _ anything _ , to kill Basil with. To get him to shut up  about trying to save Dorian. He was beyond help, beyond saving.

“Dorian, are you even listening to me?” 

The blonde stared at Basil and his hand curled into a fist. He raised his fist and swing blindly at Basil, just barely connecting his fist with Basil’s jaw.  _ Oh fuck _ . That hurt. Pain blossomed around his knuckles and spread through his hand and up his arm. He cried out in agony, pulling his hand close to his chest and falling to his knees. 

Dorian didn’t even notice Basil’s reaction. He didn’t even know that him punching Basil barely did anything. It hurt him more than it hurt the painter. He didn’t even remember that Basil was still in the attic with him until a gentle hand touched his shoulder.

“Dorian,” Basil said, kneeling down in front of him. His jaw where Dorian punched him was red and a bruise was beginning to form. “Let me help you.”


End file.
